


Works of Art

by SnowWight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWight/pseuds/SnowWight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat and Dave on the meteor, bonding over bad movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic, and I'm really sorry if it's sloppy . . . Criticism and whatever are always welcomed. More stuff will happen in the next chapter, I promise. I hope you enjoy!

You’ve been hiding up here for a while, a few floors above Can Town, in a stairwell. It’s nice and dark up here, but you don’t dare go up any further. There’s a line between civilized society and Juggalo land, and you don’t really know where it is. 

Downstairs, you can hear him yelling. Even his spoken words sound large and blocky and gray. God, you don’t know how you fucked yourself up this badly.   
It isn’t anything, specifically, and it wasn’t something you did or was done to you, but hiding still seems like the best possible option.

Given all the buildings on the meteor and all the space, you’d think people would be less up each other’s asses, but that’s not how it turned out at all. You all stay in the same place and do the same things and there’s no privacy whatsoever and you wind up watching the same movies ten times over and memorizing faces and reactions and freckles. And then you do nothing about it until you wind up sitting in the dark somewhere between the stars and oblivion. 

You’re pretty sure it’s how these things are supposed to go down. It’s not like you haven’t watched enough RomComs in the past few months to figure it out.   
It’s not like you want to watch them, even, but he does, so you do. It’s this low, empty feeling in the bottom of your chest when he asks you to join him. Right below your heart, or thereabout. So much so that you don’t know if it’s a matter of what you’ve done or a matter of what you haven’t done. 

You can’t tell what he’s yelling about. Probably Can Town or food or Terezi. He’s been yelling a lot at her lately, and at you too. And at everything, really. It’s not like there’s a gauge to measure the fluctuations of his verbal spew, but you feel like more of it has been directed at you lately. 

But maybe that’s just you being sensitive. 

You’ll go downstairs once he finishes, you tell yourself, but you told yourself that an hour ago too. 

You don’t remember when you became such a coward. You’ve probably had it in you the whole time. You wrap your cape tighter around you and press your forehead against your knees. It doesn’t remove the gnawing in the pit of your stomach, but it helps you pretend you don’t have to deal with it. You’re stuck on this meteor with him for another two years, so you’ll have to deal with him at some point, but it’s nice and dark and warm in your stairwell.

As you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, you hear footsteps below you. You don’t poke out of your shell, though, because fuck interaction. 

“HELLO?” His voice is quieter than usual, and your stomach drops. 

No fucking privacy.

You wait a second too long before answering. “What?”

“OH THERE YOU ARE.” He’s waiting at the bottom of the staircase. You can hear him breathing heavily. “WHERE WERE YOU? NO SHUT UP DON’T ANSWER THAT.”

You smile into your knees. 

“BUT UH . . . “ You can hear him moving back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, the legs of his pants rustling. “ARE YOU GOING TO COME DOWNSTAIRS.”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He’s not yelling, really, but he still sounds loud in this confined space. Loud and blocky and sort of awkward. 

“Just sitting here.” You take your head out of your cape and sit up. Your glasses are on your bedside table, in the living quarters downstairs. You’d forgotten to put them on this morning, because it’s so dark all the time. “What are you doing?”

“I DON’T KNOW. WANT TO WATCH A MOVIE?” He’s holding a movie in his hand, and sort of standing there, half in the door, half out. He’s not really looking at you, instead looking at the floor near you. 

“Another one?” You don’t really mind though. It’s sweet that he came up here and asked you, standing all awkward like that. 

“UH--” he looks down at the title in his hand. “NO WE’VE SEEN THIS ONE.”

“Right.”

“YEAH SORRY. NOT A LOT OF MOVIES AROUND HERE.” 

You shrug. “That’s fine. Are you going to make popcorn?” 

“YEAH SURE WHATEVER.” You can’t see his face, only his dark silhouette. 

“I’ll come down in a sec.”

He hesitates, turns and goes, his shoulders settling unevenly. When you’d first gotten on the meteor, he’d been short and sort of pudgy. The past few months had stretched him out until he could look down on your scalp. He stumbles over his legs as he walks away from you. It’s cute.

For thoughts like these, you would make yourself stay in this corner for the rest of the trip. But the dull, gnawing emptiness in you won’t let you so you stand up and follow his footsteps down through the building, the gloom gathering up your sadness for another day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They watch this movie that I made up and they're awkward

You sit on the couch, curled up in the corner. He’s sitting on the other end, pressed into an arm. He looks like he desperately wants to be anywhere but on the couch with you, but you can’t see why. The bowl of popcorn is balancing in the middle of the couch on the cushion. You take a handful--it’s buttery gross, just like you like it. 

He watches you suspiciously as you eat, still huddled around a pillow. He can’t possibly be comfortable. 

“Don’t want any of this Strider lovin’?” You ask him, raising your eyebrows. Oh fucking shit why do you say things like that. Fucking shit. 

He groans and rolls his eyes back into his head. “PBHGHHH DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT STRIDER WATCH THE DAMN MOVIE KEEP YOUR SHITTY THOUGHTS TO YOURSELF.” 

“Right. Yessir.” You toss him a salute and wrap your cape tighter around you. It’s cold on the meteor, in the living room especially. “But, for real, why are you sitting all the way over there? I’m not a scary person.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT FUCK YOU I’M SITTING OVER HERE.” 

“Alright, man, whatever.” You thought this was going to be a cute movie session. Maybe you could’ve pulled off the stretch-and-reach maneuver, and his head would have been on your shoulder. It would be the romantic situation that he’d always dreamed about. Maybe. If you were such a fucking chicken. 

On screen, the male protagonist gets in a witty line and winks. You’ve seen this movie at least five times, and you still couldn’t surmise the basic plot. The scene changes and suddenly you’re looking at a boat. “Why are they sailing to Norfolk again?”

“YOU’VE SEEN THIS FIVE TIMES.” He looks at you, so annoyed, his hand flipped out next to him. His hair is stuck out, all to the sides, and his wrinkling his nose at you. He’s pretty cute. You don’t know if you’ve mentioned that before, but he’s pretty cute. 

“Yeah, so?”

“SO YOU DON’T PAY ATTENTION?”

“No.” You sound more offended than you meant to. 

“THEN WHY DO YOU SIT HERE AND STARE VACANTLY AT THE SCREEN FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF?” He’s still incredulous, but you can’t tell if that’s because he genuinely is or if he’s making a point. He’s probably genuinely incredulous. He’s not really all that good with subtle sarcasm. 

“Popcorn?” You gesture at the bowl in between you and curse yourself. Nice fucking job, Strider. You could have been smooth and said ‘you’ and then he would have gotten all teary eyed and it would have been great. Fucking perfect. He would have let you make out with him. Probably. 

“THAT’S STUPID.”

“Yeah, thanks.” You’re stupid. Goddamit. You settle back into the couch and watch him some more. He, mere human that he is, is wrapped up in a blanket instead of a cape. He has it pulled up to his chin, and is staring at the movie. 

“THEY’RE GOING TO NORFOLK BECAUSE HE OWES HER FATHER MONEY, WHICH HE CAN’T PAY BECAUSE HE’S A MINIMUM WAGE EARNER LIKE THE COMMON MAN AND SO THEY DECIDE TO STEAL THE YACHT AND SAIL AWAY TO AVOID THE SOCIAL STIGMA OF DEBT.” He calms down as he explains the movie, his shoulders relaxing. HIs voice settles down too, from shouting to just loud. 

“That’s stupid. How are they going to live in Canada? And isn’t it worse to steal the yacht then just live with owing money?” 

“YOU DON’T NEED TO BE SO FUCKING LITERAL IT’S A MOVIE STRIDER. ENJOY IT IRONICALLY IF YOU MUST..” He sneers at you, twisting his lips up so you can see his pointy, pearly whites. “AND IF YOU’D PAID ATTENTION BEFORE YOU WOULD KNOW THAT THEY GET MARRIED AND COME HOME AND ALL THEIR DEBT IS FORGIVEN.”

“Whoever wrote this was on crack.”

“WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE AN INSULT?”

“Yes . . . ?”

“FUCK YOU THIS IS A WORK OF ART.” He looks back at the movie, done with you. 

You smile into your shirt sleeve, watching him. “You say that about every dumb movie we ever watch.”

“HOW CAN YOU SAY THEY’RE DUMB. LOOK AT THEM.” He grabs the remote and points it at the television, freezing the main characters in a particularly awkward position. Their arms are wrapped around each other in a sitcom-y way, and their faces are frozen in facsimiles of smiles. “THEY’RE HAPPY.”

“You think that’s happy?” You can see where the woman’s make-up and her lipstick run together, and the bags under the man’s eyes. 

“YEAH. THEY’RE GOING TO BE TOGETHER AND EVERYTHING WILL TURN OUT ALRIGHT. HOW ARE THEY NOT HAPPY?”

“I don’t know. I guess I look at them and see the actors. And they’re all sweaty and have to wear uncomfortable clothes and they probably don’t even like each other. I can’t see that as happiness.” You watch don’t watch him as you speak, but you can feel him watching you. It’s sort of making you squirm. He’s really intense, especially when he starts talking about romance. And his stupid movies. 

“WHATEVER. ASSHOLE.” He turns back to the television, and something squeezes inside of you. You hate to disappoint him. But you never seem to say the right things. “I’M SORRY YOU CAN’T APPRECIATE THIS FOR WHAT IT IS.” 

“I mean . . . “ You fidget with the end of your cape, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. The man and the woman are sailing across the open sea, now, pulling Titanic poses and shit, the perfect couple. “It’s nice that you like it.” 

“FUCK YOU.”

“No, I’m not being sarcastic, or whatever.” You are so uncomfortable. This is the most uncomfortable thing you’ve ever done. Your heart is in your throat, but you can’t stop talking. “It’s nice. You like, smile and stuff. That’s nice.” Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you 

“WHATEVER, STRIDER.” He snorts, and relaxes into the couch.

You glance at him, just once, over your shoulder, and you swear he’s smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, guys, for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

A week later, you’re by his door, holding a beat-up movie adaption of Pride and Prejudice. You don’t really know how he got his hands on all of these shitty human movies. Rose told you once, specifically, that the libraries on the meteor didn’t come with anything other than books. It doesn’t really matter to you. Everyone’s got their addictions. 

If you were in a movie right now, you’d tell your audience that you were just a few inches away from yours, separated only by a few inches of plywood and a lack of courage, but you aren’t so you don’t. You think it, though. 

Your knuckles itch where they should be knocking. Just knock. You can do it. You can do it. 

Half expecting the door to open inward, you do it. 

And then you knock again, just to be sure. And just to make extra-double sure, just to check, you turn the doorknob and step inside. 

His room is dark and tidy. It surprised you the first time you saw it, all of his clothes put away nicely, everything on its own shelf, but once you got to know him better, his anal-retentive attention to detail stopped being all that shocking. 

You flick on the light. Everything in the room is gray, and the walls are covered in posters for both human and troll movies alike. You guys spend a lot of time in each other’s rooms, when you’re not hiding from each other. Though, you don’t think he’s ever hidden from you. He has been avoiding you a lot lately, leaving rooms just after you enter them and sitting just far enough away at dinner so you can’t talk to him. 

You throw yourself down into the bean bag you insisted he alchemize to wait. 

Your life is a whole lot easier when he isn’t with you. 

You pull a book of his bookshelf and look at the cover. There’s some troll Fabio on the cover. Ripped, with obscenely long hair. A gentleman in one arm and a lady on another. It’s fucking hysterical. He has it all marked up, too, with practically every other paged dog-eared and whole sentences highlighted. 

That part makes your heart contract a bit, and then loosen. Not that you’re ever going to admit it to anyone. Ever. 

You’re flipping through the pages, reading his annotations, when he barges through the door. “STRIDER--” His shoulders slump when he sees you, and his eyes close. “THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING.” 

“Your handwriting is fucking terrible, man. Look at this.” You hold up a page so he can see it. One sentences has been marked in three different colors, and the scribbling in the margin is illegible. “What does this even say?”

He takes the book from you and brings it up to his face, squinting. “FUCK ME IF I KNOW. BUT IT’S PRETTY IMPORTANT.” 

“How do you know?” You take the book back from him. You can’t even tell if his notes are in English or Alternian. 

“BECAUSE I WOULDN’T HAVE WRITTEN IT IF IT WASN’T.” He sits down in his computer chair. He crosses his bare feet over each other, resting them on the corner of his desk. You can’t remember the last time any of you wore shoes. “DID YOU COME IN HERE IN PURSUIT OF FINE LITERATURE?”

“Nah, not really. I came wanting to know if you wanted to catch some sick flicks with me.” You pick up the Pride and Prejudice DVD and wave it around. The only sounds in the room are the steady wheezing of the generator amplified through the vents and the rattling of the disc in its lonely box. God, the things that come out of your mouth sometimes. 

“UH NO. I THOUGHT WE HAD A DISCUSSION ABOUT HOW YOU DIDN’T LIKE THEM VERY MUCH.” He swings the seat of the rolly chair back and forth, oblivious to the fact that he just stuck you through with a tiny spear.

“I mean, I like hanging out with you. And we haven’t really talked all week, so, you know . . .” You wrap your arms around your knees and try not to look at him but also try not to look needy because you’re not needy. You’re not. 

“WELL IF IT’S ALL THE SAME TO YOU I NEED TO FULFILL MY CIVIC DUTIES. I JUST CAME DOWN HERE TO GET THIS.” He rummages around his desk, pulling a Swiss army knife from somewhere. “WE’RE PRUNING THE APPLE ORCHARD.”

“We have an apple orchard?” You can’t tell if you’re actually interested or if you’re just speaking to fill in the hole he just carved into your chest. You’re being ditched. For a town that already has way too much oversight. 

“YEAH. I GUESS.” He lingers at the doorway. “YOU CAN COME TOO.”

“Eh.” You shrug. You don’t really want to get there and share him with people. He’s louder and doesn’t smile as much. “I guess I’ll just hang out around here. Or go find Rose or whatever.” You don’t make a move to get up, though, and he doesn’t either. 

The two of you sort of sit in a silence for a moment, until he slides his feet off the table. “GOTTA GET GOING. I GUESS.”

“Yeah.” You stand up too, because it might be weird to stick around. You leave the movie on the floor, but keep the book. He notices, but doesn’t comment. Maybe he’ll find the movie tomorrow and watch it with you or something. Or maybe you could ask him. Because it’s not like that would make you seem desperate. 

You only seem desperate if you actually are desperate. 

Which you’re not. 

“HEY MAN I’M SORRY I HOPE I DIDN’T--” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck, looking so uncomfortable. “NOTHING NOPE I’M NOT APOLOGIZING.” 

“Okay?”

“YEAH,” he nods, looking much more relieved. “SEE YOU LATER.” He pats you, twice, on the shoulder as he passes you out the door. You listen to his footsteps as they retreat down the hallway, alone in his room again. 

You guess your whole life would be a lot easier without him, but you don’t want it to be. Not with the warm imprint of his hand still on your shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this mess!


	4. Chapter 4

You find her sitting in a dark corner of the library, a tungsten glow hanging around her like a halo. She looks up when you come in, her white hair falling around her face. “Karkat ditch you again?”

“What? No.” You pull out a seat across from her and slump into it. “He just had better things to do.”

“Right.” She raises her eyebrows. “What’s that?” She nods at the book in your hand, and you feel blood creeping into your cheeks.

“Just something he wanted me to check out. You know. So we have some stuff to riff about.” You put it down in front of you on the table and try not to look at the cover. It’s really fucking hilarious but also somewhat intriguing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a troll with their shirt off before. He has some markings underneath, right where your ribs are, that are a vivid indigo. You can’t tell if they have physical substance, or if they’re just a difference in skin color. And the troll’s nipples are blue. Which is really fucking weird. Do all trolls have nipples based on their blood color? 

You wonder if you could ask Karkat, but the idea makes you unreasonably nervous. Really, though, what’s a shirtless conversation between bros? 

“Dave!”

“What?” 

“You were staring at the shirtless troll.”

“What? I was not. I was just--” You were. You hadn’t really been paying attention to the picture anymore. “He has blue nipples?” 

“And horns and what have you.” Your sister sounds too bemused for your liking. 

“Whatever.” You push the book away from you. “What were you saying?”

“You were saying about how you and Karkat were going to ‘riff’ off that man and his paramours.”

“Oh, yeah, right. It looks sort of trashy.”

“It really does.” She was paging through some tomb before you sat down, the pages yellowed even though they’d spent their entire existence in a meteor in space. “Anything you came down here to tell me about?”

“Nah, not really.” You sort of swivel back and forth in your chair. “Just bored, I guess.” 

“Mmmm,” she nods, and you sort of want to punch her in the face. In a good way, you guess. That’s what you’re supposed to want to do to siblings. “Last week you were avoiding him, and now you’re moping because he’s avoiding you?” 

“He’s not avoiding me. He doesn’t avoid people, period. He just yelled at me, like ten minutes ago. And then went off to hang out at Can Town.” 

“Right.” You hate the thing she does with her eyebrows. You think that sometimes she does it just to annoy you.

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I have to,” she protests, a small smile creeping across her face. “It’s my job.”

“Well, you’re shitty at it, so stop.” 

“I just want you to be happy.”

You stop in your swiveling to look her dead in the eye. “And how will talking to me about Vantas make me happy?”

She looks at you, folding her arms on the table. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“No, fuck you.” 

“Dave, come on.” The only other person you know who as intense as Rose is pruning imaginary trees. She looks at you, her purple eyes unnaturally dark for her pale complexion. It just adds to the illusion that she’s staring into your soul. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Which one don’t you want to talk about: The fact that you’ve been following him around like a kicked puppy for most of the last three months, or the fact that you just spent like five minutes picturing him shirtless?” 

“I didn’t do either. I don’t do--whatever. Shut up.” You push your sunglasses farther up the bridge of your nose, to the point where they hurt. You don’t understand how she always has the drop on you like that. How she finds the thing that will hurt you the most and twist you up in it. 

“Dave, it’s--” she looks around for words to use, and you feel a small stab of victory. It’s not often your sister has to search for what to say. “It’s not wrong.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” 

“No! Hush, let me talk. It’s not wrong to love a friend. Romantically. That’s all I’m saying. Okay?” She reaches out and grabs her hand in yours. It’s small. For all your years of interaction, you imagined her to be bigger, but in real life, she’s just human. “And you don’t have to be ashamed for having a good heart, okay?”

“That is literally the cheesiest shit I have ever heard anyone say.”

She laughs, her features crumpling together as her mouth opens up. “I know. But it’s true. And I love you. And if you need me to beat someone up, I will.”

You smile back. You couldn’t ask for better people in your life. They’re all fucking annoying, sure, but if they didn’t matter for something you wouldn’t let them get to you. “I love you too. And you couldn’t beat up Egbert, so.”

“I would stab him.” She slams the book shut and looks at you seriously. “In the eye. I’ve done it to people before.”

You reach across the table and wrap your arm around her bicep. “With this thing?”

“Hey! If we’re not talking about your boy problems, then we’re not talking about my lack of fitness regime. Capiche?” 

You laugh, and she laughs with you. You’re still sitting together several hours later, she still reading her monumental bore of a book, and you paging loosely through Karkat’s trashy romance. You’re not reading the story so much as tracing his handwriting over and over in your mind, the curves of his English letters strangely similar to Alternian. 

Are you really as obvious as Rose said you are? You don’t think so. You can’t be. Because if you were, he would have said something already. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that's reading this and enjoying it. It makes me so happy! I hope everyone's doing well. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

You’re busy redrawing the roads in front of the Supermarket of Hope when Pyrope sits herself down next to you. Right on top of the lines you’re going over. “YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE CHALK ON YOUR BUTT,” you point out, not looking up. 

“And?” Her voice is really fucking grating. 

“SUIT YOURSELF I GUESS.” 

“I will.” She looks at you for a while longer. You can’t really see her eyes, because of her jackass glasses, but her head is tilted in your direction and her ass is planted right where you need to be. 

You stop drawing and sit up. You hope you’re radiating anger. That she can smell the absolute hatred pouring off of you in waves. “DO YOU WANT SOMETHING?”

“Where’s Strider?”

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and you’re almost certain that it was the proper measures of disgust and disdain. “DO I LOOK LIKE HIS HUMAN LUSUS?”

“No. But you’re looking awfully flushed!” Her laugh echoes off the ceiling. Fuck her! You’re the only one with the authority to make those sorts of romance calls on this damn meteor, and you know for a fact that hers is a false assessment. And a fact is something no one can argue. Because it is a fact.

“SAYS YOU THE ONLY ONE IN THIS CONVERSATION WHO IS *NOT* A QUADRANT EXPERT! AND THE ONLY ONE WHO ALWAYS HAS HER TONGUE UP STRIDER’S HEAR HOLES!”

“His what now?”

“EARS.” You thought that was a pretty good one. 

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“BECAUSE FUCK YOU IS WHY. BUT THAT’S NOT EVEN WHAT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT SO SHUT YOUR FACE. STRIDER IS SOMEWHERE THAT I DON’T KNOW, AND IT WOULD PLEASE ME GREATLY IF YOU WOULD BUG OFF AND FIND HIM.” 

“Yes sir!” She jumps up, knocking several empty can citizens over. “I’ll report back to you post haste, and tell him you were asking about him!”

“NO WAIT DON’T DO THAT STOP.”

“Why’s that?” She looks back you, dripping sugar, her hands clasped behind her back. “You don’t want him to know you’ve been thinking about him?” 

“I HAVEN’T BEEN THINKING ABOUT HIM. ONE BIT. AT ALL. SO KINDLY LEAVE AND REFRAIN FROM VOCALIZING MY NAME IN YOUR LEWD MOUTH.” 

She laughs again. “Everyone knows you’ve been thinking about our resident coolkid , Karkitty. You don’t have to be so shy.” 

“I, FOR ONE, WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT DISEASE CRAWLED UP INTO EVERYONE’S THINKPAN, BECAUSE THAT DOES NOT SOUND LIKE A THOUGHT A RATIONAL, NON-DISEASED INDIVIDUAL WOULD WILLINGLY HAVE.”

“It’s funny how many words and how much time you use saying that you don’t like him.” You swear to god she exists just to make you want to kill her. 

“THAT IS NOT WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE.”

She turns around, knocking a couple of cans to the ground. “Look, we all know this is about him.”

 

“WHAT IS ABOUT HIM?”

“This moping and hiding. Even Vriska’s noticed. You’ve been in Can Town for practically the whole week. You’ve established an orchard, reorganized the militia, and built up the defense fortress. We don’t need a defense fortress, Karkat. No one’s going to attack these people. There aren’t really even people here. I mean, are the cans the citizens or the buildings?” 

“EXCUSE YOU? ARE YOU DOUBTING THE INTEGRITY OF CAN TOWN?”

“I’m commenting on the fact that you’ve chosen to immerse yourself in a land of make-believe as an avoidance tactic, rather than facing your problems. Which, by anyone’s count, isn’t really a problem.”

“OH SCREW YOU. AND STOP SPENDING TIME WITH LALONDE. SHE’S POISONING YOUR BRAIN. NO ONE REALLY THINKS LIKE THAT.” You scribble angrily on the ground. And then you lick your thumb and rub it out. You don’t need angry pink blotches ruining the pristine streets of your lovely town. 

Pyrope sits down across from you again, sitting on some more vital government functions, like the marking for the entrance to the sewage access port. “What’s the problem?”

“WHAT PROBLEM.”

“You and Strider are usually together all the time. Not that I give a shit, it’s just that the two of you have been moping around ALL WEEK and I can’t get him to draw me any art or do anything cool and then you’re over here quietly going insane. Which is weird. Because you’re usually so fucking loud.” 

You don’t want to talk about your relationship problems, potential or otherwise, with her. When you woke up this morning, the first thing you thought was ‘I do not want to talk about my relationship problems, potential or otherwise, with Terezi Pyrope.’ And you thought that as a pretty good idea because talking about your relationship problems, potential or otherwise, with Terezi Pyrope, means that you’ve sunk to a new low. 

But you guess that’s a pit you’re more than happy to throw your putrid self into. “HE SAID THAT THEY WEREN’T HAPPY AND THAT HE DIDN’T LIKE WATCHING THEM.”

“What?”

“THE MOVIES.”

She cackles, and you really wish that she wasn’t so fucking derisive all the time. That maybe she could give a shit and care, or something. But, then again, it was you who decided to have this conversation. “Of course he doesn’t like them. No one who isn’t as messed up as you could like them.”

“WHATEVER. I REGRET THIS LIFE CHOICE. PLEASE GO BACK TO WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING BEFORE YOU DECIDED TO MAKE MY LIFE MISERABLE.” You were sort of hoping that she would tell you that it was alright, and that Strider didn’t hate you for making him watch those movies over and over again. 

“But I mean, he did watch them, right? Even though they’re steaming piles of garbage. So, that means something, right?” 

Does it? You don’t know. You lick your finger and erase part of a line so you can straighten it out. If you keep your head turned away, she can’t see your face and the smile that always gives you away. “I DON’T KNOW.”

“Yes you do!” She hits you on the shoulder as she stands up. “I’m going to go see him, and I’ll tell him you’re asking after him, okay? And it will be great and everything, and you two can go back to watching your crappy movies and paying attention to me instead of to yourselves!” 

“NO WAIT I JUST SAW HIM LIKE THIRTY MINUTES AG--” But she’s already up the stairs and out the door, the hinges protesting her sudden absconce. Maybe you should go up and try harder to stop her, but you don’t mind. 

You were wondering how he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys, as always! Seeing how much people appreciate this always makes my day!


	6. Chapter 6

You’re antsy, waiting to see him at dinner or after dinner. Maybe you’ll pick up his movie from your room, so you two can watch it. You know, if he wanted to. But he would probably want to. You’d make popcorn and stuff, even, and you wouldn’t even protest. 

You have to sit across from him while eating and pretend that your legs aren’t bouncing with nerves. You can’t look at him in the face, because then you’ll blush and it isn’t like you have a nice blush. It’s deep and red and it makes your freckles stand out like fuckall. He’s acting like you aren’t even there, not looking at you, not even when you’re not looking at him. Which is a pretty rare occasion. You can’t believe how much you’re staring at him. 

But if Pyrope is suggesting that maybe you have a chance, then you’re going to soak him in for all you’re worth. 

You can’t tell if he’s not watching you because he doesn’t like you, or if it’s because you’re being too fucking weird, but you can’t stop. It’s like there’s a tiny sun inside your chest, and it’s leaking out all of your face. 

“Are you okay, Karkat?” Rose asked you, passing you some bowl of food. You can’t even taste the food that you’re eating. 

“YEAH GOOD,” you say, and you feel like if you open your mouth any more it will twist into a smile that you won’t be able to get rid of. 

“Right,” she says. Everyone else at the table is watching you. You think that even Dave is watching you through his glasses, so you force the corners of your mouth downwards. 

“ALL GOOD OVER HERE,” you say, and keep your mouth to yourself through the rest of the meal. You don’t remember ever being so happy before. And it wasn’t like he’s done anything. In fact, he’s probably done negative shit. Sitting over there. Ignoring you like that. Whatever. You leave the dinner table as quickly as you can, and retreat to your room. 

You find the movie on the floor quickly, and toss it around between your hands. Is it okay? No. You have to stop. You have to be a normal person. You have to be cool, fucking cool, so he’ll still like you and you’ll still hang and then maybe you can be like ‘HEY HOW ARE YOU?’ and then he’ll be all suave and deny how how he thinks you are but then you’ll win him over and then you’ll escape on a boat to Newfoundland and eat each other’s faces. And it will be fucking awesome. 

Someone knocks on your door and you drop the movie like it was proof of your thoughts. Because no one needs to know you think like that. Ever. 

“WHAT FUCK WHO’S THIS?”

“I finished your book,” he says, and you should have fucking guessed. You can’t even think about him, and then here he is, all up in your shit. “And, uh, I don’t know. I thought you might have wanted it back?”

“FUCK YES I DO,” you might have thrown the door open with more force than necessary, but whatever. You grab the book out of his hand. He’s just sort of standing there with one hand in a pocket, all sheepish. You find yourself incapable of looking at him, so you turn the book over and inspect the back like he might’ve damaged it. “YOU FINISHED ALL THIS ALREADY?”

“Yeah, man. What am I supposed to do when my best bro doesn’t even want to watch movies with me?”

Best bro. Fuck. “WELL ISN’T THAT NICE. OKAY BYE NOW.” You feel like someone just let all the air out of your balloon. Just stabbed you in the lungs with a needle and *whoomp*. There goes all your air. 

“Oh. Okay. Bye. I mean, we could watch it now, if you wanted to.” 

“NO. IT LOOKS SHITTY. HERE DO YOU WANT IT BACK?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He looks confused. And if you didn’t know him so well, you’d say that he looks a little upset. But you do know him pretty well and you know that he wouldn’t be upset by you shooting down his crappy evening plans. You hand him the movie. It’s heavy in your palm, like you’re handing over all the dreams associated with it. “Were you alright at dinner today?”

“WHAT?” 

“I don’t know man. You just looked different. And you were moving all around and stuff. And you hardly said anything.”

“OH YEAH.” So he had been looking at you. Score one, Vantas. 

He takes the movie from you, and twists his mouth. You bet that when he blushes, his face turns bright red too. “Pyrope said that maybe I should come check on you. See if you wanted to do something. If, you know, you were feeling up to it.”

“OH FUCK HER.” So he wasn’t even here of his own accord. God fucking dammit. He didn’t even care that much. 

“Yeah, man,” he laughs. “But, really, are you okay?”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN MEAN BY THAT?”

“I just mean, you know, you were sort of acting weird at dinner. And, I noticed this all by myself dude. No TZ involved. You were like so jumpy and whatever. And you were making this face. So, you know, if you want to talk about anything . . . “

“I WAS MAKING THIS FACE?”

“Yeah it was sort of . . . “ he picks up one side of his mouth with his finger, and pushes down the other side with his other hand. “And you could see your fangs and stuff and everything,” he says, dropping his hands. “It was pretty awesome. But it looked like you were really pissed at someone.” 

“I WAS SMILING. DUMBASS.”

He does turn bright red when he blushes. “Right, well, uh . . . Sorry?”

“WHATEVER.” 

“I guess. I'm going to go now.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and walks away from you. Halfway down the hall, he turns back around. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You have a nice face. And smile. And stuff.” He turns red again and practically trips over his own feet. You like the way his hips swing when he walks. Even when he’s being a total klutz. 

You bite your bottom lip and smile at the ground, this human emotion of sickening happiness rearing its ugly head again. “I KNOW. DORK.”


	7. Chapter 7

You don’t really know what you’re supposed to be doing, now. You’re not watching movies with him, you finished his stupid book. You sort of insulted you face? If someone said that about your face, you would be pretty insulted. But no one would ever say that about your face, because it’s pretty great, and you don’t smile like you’re being stabbed repeatedly in the gut. 

You don’t ever think you’ve seen him smile before. It was sort of cute. 

But what does he do that you don’t think is cute? You throw yourself down across from Rose again and bury your face in your arms so she can’t see you smile.

“No movie night tonight?” You wish she wouldn’t find everything so fucking amusing. Her laughter creeps into her voice, and it should make your hair stand on end, but tonight it just makes you smile harder.

“He was smiling at me at dinner tonight. Did you notice?”

“The whole table noticed, doofus,” she skims a hand over your hair, and you duck away from her. “I thought the bottom of his face was going to fall off.”

“Yeah.” You lean back in your chair and stretch out. You shouldn’t be this happy after making a complete ass of yourself in front of him, but a self-satisfied feeling settles like a warm cat in the bottom of your stomach. 

“So, when are you going to ask him out?” 

“Wait, what?” You let the legs of your chair fall down to the floor. 

“Ask him out. On a date.” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A date. I thought this was a human concept?” Kanaya sits down delicately next to Rose. The two of them have been pretty cosy lately, smiling at each other and whatever, but no one’s been in their business about it. 

“Yes, dates are human concepts.” You roll your eyes as hard as you can, but they can’t see because you’re wearing glasses. Sometimes you consider rethinking your fashion decisions for these reasons, but then you decide against it because you look fucking amazing with them on. And everyone else can deal with not seeing your pretty face. 

“Yes, they are.” Kanaya drags Rose’s book over to her delicately. “And I think you should ask him out on one.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a romantic,” Rose points out, running her finger down the weird to find a specific line on the page. “And he would probably smile even more if you asked him out. Maybe even hold your hand.”

You flip her off. Double handed. 

“Yes, I agree, you should.” Kanaya smiles at whatever Rose pointed out. “He would enjoy that greatly.”

“Whatever, though,” you look away from them and smooth down your hair as desperately as you can, from where Rose messed it up earlier. “We’re going to be on this meteor for another long while, you know? And if he says that he doesn’t want to go out with him, then that would totally suck. Because it would mean I would lose my best friend and you know. Any chances of a date. Or whatever.”

“Don’t be such an pansy,” Rose shakes her head. “God.” 

“I think that it’s a warranted fear.” Kanaya reaches across the table and wraps her hand around yours. It’s soft and cool, not something you would expect from someone who glows all the time. “It can be scary to not have flushed feelings reciprocated.”

“Hey, hey, hey, wait--” 

“David, you are flirting with a troll. It’s called flushed, okay?” Rose makes a face at you, pressing her tongue against her upper lip so her face bulge in a strange way. 

“Well, I’m really sorry my pathetic attempts at troll flirting don’t match up to your sick skillz,” you stick your tongue back out at her, but Rose blushes bright red. Next to her, Kanaya turns a lovely shade of green and looks politely away from you two. 

So that’s how it is. 

“Right. Wow. Thank you guys so much for giving me advice. I really appreciate it. Because you two,” you point between them, “have clearly got your shit together.” You leave them sitting there together, and escape the library. 

You make a visit down to Can Town because it’s not like there’s any other fucking place to go, and you know he isn’t there. Unless he tore ass out of his room, and he usually like some time to himself after dinner. 

It’s not like you keep track of him and know his schedule. At all. 

Anyways. 

Can Town is in the basement, in comparison to the kitchen. You have to go down a flight of stairs off the main staircases. The town lies below, and the lights overhead hover like celestial bodies. It’s probably your favorite place on the meteor. It makes you feel sort of like a god, looking over it all. 

“Who’s down here?” 

“Me!” Terezi shouts up from the town square. The Mayor’s down here, too, and he quietly waves at you from the ground. 

“Hey, ‘sup?” You haven’t been down here in at least a week, but the steps down the stairs still feel the same under your feet. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

She laughs too loudly at your stupid joke, and you have to smile. You feel like she goes out of her way to make you happier. “Nothin’ much, Dutch,” she shoots back. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It does. Okay?” 

You kneel down next to her in the center of a street. “It really doesn’t.”

“It does!” She rubs her hand over your face, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses. “I’ve missed having you around.” 

“Yeah, i know. I’ve missed you too. I’ve just been busying fucking around. And stuff. You know how it is. Irons on the fire and all that.”

She giggles, low in her throat. You can’t ever tell if that’s cute, or fucking creepy. Turning, she licks your face. “You taste sweaty.” 

“Yeah. I was just running my ass down here to meet you.”

“Mmmhmmm.” She nods, raising her eyebrows. “You haven’t been down here because of CG.”

Dammit. You pull your face away from hers before she can taste the red in your cheeks. “What even.”

“Oh, hush, everyone in the world knows. The Whole World, Dave.”

“I bet that’s a lie.”

“Well.” She stops and looks around the room. The Mayor is scribbling away in one corner, happily ignoring the two of you. “This is the whole world, isn’t it?”

You look around too. “Why the fuck do you have to be so depressing.”

She giggles again and grabs the front of your shirt, and drags you closer, burying her face into your chest. “It’s not depressing, Dave. I like being part of the whole world.” She pauses for a second. “He wanted to know how you were doing.”

“What?” 

“Karkat did. A while ago. I couldn’t find you, to ask you, though, but he wanted to know.”

“That’s cool. Um,” you play with the tag of her shirt at the back of her neck. “Why didn’t he just text me?”

“Because he thinks you’re cu-ute!” She draws out the word and giggles at the end. You don’t know if you should smile or punch her in the face, but the choice is made for you when she reaches forward and grabs your face in both of her hands. She licks you right on the check. “See, you’re blushing. You think he’s cu-ute too!” Her voice is a heavy whisper over your face. 

She licks you again, in your ear, and you sit there. Somewhere above you, you think you hear a door closing, but Pyrope giggles again, and you push her over. “You think that’s funny, punk, huh?” You ask her, grabbing a piece of chalk and scribbling across her face. “You think I taste good, huh?”

She laughs and claws back at you, and the two of you make a general mess of Can Town until you’re too sleepy to fight anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I'm so glad that you've all been reading this and enjoying it. Um . . . this will probably end by next Monday though. Don't know why I'm mentioning it. I just feel like I've got the hang of writing these characters, and so maybe I want to do something longer and more plot based? So . . . I hope you keep reading, and thank you all so very, very, very much!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Sorry I'm such an awkward potato, but thank you all so much for reading, as usual. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations, if those were a thing, and that you all have a great day! Or, have had a great day. I guess?

Fuck everything. 

You run back, through the kitchens, up the stairs and throw the door shut with enough force to make the meteor wobble in its path. Fuck all of this. All of this. All of this. You want to rip your hair out and cry but instead you throw yourself on your bed because you’re a dignified man. Fucking Christ, Terezi. You leave for 20 minutes, and when you come back she’s all over him. 

 

And fuck her, again, for that bit where she said he was into you. And that other bit where she went and licked him on the face and he was obviously into it. And fuck him for telling you that you have a nice face and making you believe him, and believe in him, fuck it all. Fuck them for their hearts and whatever quaderants they might be in.

You never loved them anyways. 

But you did goddammit! You can’t think of a word strong enough to describe the way your chest rips open whenever you revisit the two of them, basically sitting in each other’s laps. And maybe, you thought that she would stop licking his fucking face after that lovely heart-to-heart you two had. But no. Because obviously, your feelings don’t play into this at all. 

You scream into your pillow, the fabric a wet, soggy bunch in your mouth. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck you wish you could rip out your heart and die. There you were, all dinner, like a fucking fool, and you’d gone looking for him! You’d gone looking for him and you know, maybe mention that you were up for a change of plans if he was, you know, an after-dinner movie date--

NOT LIKE AN ACTUAL DATE OKAY YOU WOULD JUST SIT NEXT TO HIM AND MAKE HIM LOOK AT YOUR FACE--  
fuck

That sounds like a pretty actual human date. 

And now all you want to do is sob your heart out and die. 

Thinking about it is just a vicious cycle that’s busy shattering you into a thousand pieces. And so the knock on the door is both a blessing and something hated. You drag yourself into sitting position and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. If it’s Dave, you want to be a mess. If he has a heart, he’ll fucking apologize. Because that’s what happens in movies. “WHAT?”

The doorknob turns, and your heart clenches as he comes in, your breath held in your chest-- 

“OH FUCKING CHRIST GET OUT OF MY ROOM.”

“Have you been crying?” Her mouth is full of needles and you fucking hate her smile. It’s like something that lives underground or in the ocean or somewhere where no respectable person could see it. 

“NO. FUCK YOU. GET OUT, I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU!”

“You have been crying!” She laughs, delighted, and leans one arm on the door, the other on her hip. You hate how she just takes over places. This is your room, but already it feels like you’re the one intruding. “What have you been crying about, poor baby?”

“I SAID GET OUT.”

“Eh,” she shrugs. “Where’s TZ?”

“WHY DO YOU GIVE A SHIT?”

“Can’t a lady want to get some quality time with her gal pal? That’s what the humans call them, right?” She bites her bottom lip like that’s what’s really fucking important here. 

“NO. I DON’T KNOW. FUCK YOU. ET CETERA.” 

“Mhmmm.” She nods, sagely, and goes to close the door. 

You think it’s the fact that you want him to hurt just as bad as you do. That’s why you call her back again. “WAIT.”

She leans back into the room, her eyebrows crawling up her face.

“LAST I SAW HER, SHE WAS LICKING STRIDER’S FACE IN CAN TOWN. SO. IF YOU CAN BEAR TO BREAK UP THE HAPPY COUPLE, THEN THERE SHE IS.” You try really hard not to sniffle at the end of that sentence. You need to retain some fucking dignity. 

She throws back her head and laughs. You could have guessed she’d do that. So fucking predictable. “Is that why you’re up here crying? Because your girlfriend isn’t your red lover anymore?”

“OH SHUT UP.” You sneer at her. Of course she had to go and bring up the most juvenile memory she could. You don’t even like Pyrope anymore. Living in close quarters with her for the past year has completely erased whatever that might have been. “I HOPE YOUR SHAME GLOBES RUPTURE.”

She laughs again, throwing her hand out to the side like a highblood. “Yeah, sure, so you haven’t been sequestered up in here, crying your eyes out.”

“IT WAS A SAD MOVIE.”

She raises her eyebrows at you. 

“I SWEAR IT WAS SO SAD. EVEN DAVE CRIED.” Oh, shit, you shouldn’t have said that. You can feel your eyes start to water again, the sob rising up in the back of your throat. No, you’re not going to do this in front of Vriska. No. You’re not. She would haunt you for the rest of your days. She wouldn’t let you eat in peace, ever. It would always be ‘remember that time when Vantas cried like a little bitch?’ And then Dave would find out that you cried over him (YOU. CRYING) and it would basically be the most humiliating thing ever.

“Dave?” She says, her eyes raising in incredulity, “Jesus Christ, if I were you I would crying. Of shame.”

You groan and throw yourself down into your pillow. 

“I don’t even fucking get it,” she continues, coming into your room to make herself comfortable. She settles down into your sit sack, gearing up for one of her in-depth speeches. “Why the hell are you guys throwing yourselves all over these humans? They’re pale, they don’t have horns, when you punch them they cry. And they don’t have any survival skills whatsoever! What do you think they would do if they got their arms blown off? Or legs, cut off?”

You turn your face so you can answer her. “DIE.”

“Exactly. So, what the hell? Why are you guys so infatuated with them?”

“WHO’S ALL US GUYS?”

“You, for starters, and then TZ, and then GA. Don’t know what the fuck has gotten into her lately. I never see her by herself anymore, it’s just her and the Rose human attached to each other at the hip. God, that’s another one of their expressions!” She bangs her forehead with the meat of her palm, as though to get it out of her brain. 

“YOU JEALOUS?”

“Well, yeah. I guess. They steal my morail, they take my kismesis. I mean, Maryam doesn’t even have the time to carry on two relationships with this one, and--”

“SHE WASN’T EVEN YOUR KISMESIS IN THE FIRST PLACE.”

“Yes she was!”

“NUH UH. SHE WANTED TO BE BUT YOU WERE BEING A HUGE BITCH AND LIKE HATE FLIRTING WITH THE SEA LOSER. SO. YOU CAN’T REALLY CRY ABOUT THAT ONE.”

She tosses her hair. “Whatever. But, you get what I’m saying?” 

“ARE YOU SAYING THAT WE SHOULD SIT HERE AND SILENTLY HATE HUMANS AND THEIR FUCKING IGNORANCE AND LACK OF RESPECT FOR A WELL-ESTABLISHED CULTURE THAT HAS A PERFECTLY FUNCTIONING SYSTEM?”

“Hells yeah.”

“I’M DOWN.” 

When you wake up in the morning, she’s snoring on your sit sack, holding one of your books to her chest. And the raw crying places under your eyes have disappeared, leaving you looking just as empty as you feel.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you told me a week ago that something I wrote would be looked at over 1000 times, I wouldn't believe you. But thank you guys so much for all of the support, and just for reading this! It means so much to me. I don't think I'll ever be able to say that enough.   
> I'm sorry that not a lot happens in this chapter, but I think I've got something pretty big planned for tomorrow, so! I hope you all are doing well!

Breakfast basically the worse meal you can remember eating. Even when you were all alone, chewing on piles of carrion in the middle of the fucking desert, it was a more enjoyable than this. Terezi’s sitting right next to him, practically on his leg, her face right next to his ear. You are trying to fry both of their brains, telepathically, with your eyes. 

It’s times like these that you really fuckings wish you had Pisonics.

Rose and Kanaya made breakfast, all while gazing into each other’s eyes and shit. LIke they were the heroines of some crappy movie. All helping each other and cracking eggs together and dancing around each other and communicating and being cute. Fuck them, being cute. You want to be angry, but instead you’re just sad. 

She’s licking the side of his face, tasting his pale skin and his freckles. Fuck her. Someone put food on your plate a while ago, but it’s cold now. You didn’t even try to eat.

Vriska sits down next to you, throwing her legs over the bench. “You’re still watching them.”

“LIKE YOU AREN’T.”

“Hush stop shouting!” Her whisper is nearly as loud as your shout, and now everyone’s looking at you. You won’t look at Dave, you won’t look at Dave, you don’t look at Dave. 

“EATING. YOU AREN’T EATING VRISKA YOU BETTER EAT.” You stab at your plate wildly, still aware of everyone’s eyes on you. 

“Oh my God, you’re making such a fool of yourself,” Vriska grabs your arm and drags your arm away from your plate to keep you from making noise. The two of your freeze for a second, and gradually normal conversation resumes around the room. “Just,” she says when everyone else is back to normal, “Stop staring.”

You growl at her and look down at the yellow substance on your plate. Rose says it’s edible, but you’re not really sure. You push it around into little piles, and then into littler piles. It’s probably poison. Pyrope probably put something in it to make sure you don’t ruin her budding relationship with Strider. You stab at the plate with your knife, and the grating sounds echoes through the room. 

Strider reaches across the table. “Salt and pepper make it taste better.”

“WHAT?”

“Salt and pepper,” he says again, and you realize he’s holding little tiny canisters out at you. “You’ve been on here for this whole while, and you’ve never tried salt or pepper?”

“ARE THEY POISON?”

He laughs. You noticed that he’s moved a little away from Pyrope, and that makes something inside your chest unclench. But you aren’t going to think like that anymore. You aren’t. You are a strong being, and are not a slave to your emotions. That’s such a lie. “They’re not,” he says, still handing them out to you. “Look, I’ll try them.”

He takes them away from in front of you and dumps a bit of the white one into his palm. He licks it, and makes a face. 

“SEE IT TASTES BAD.” 

“Not everything that tastes bad is poison, though.” As he talks, TZ grabs his hand and licks his palm herself. He doesn’t even look over at her. At least, you think he doesn’t. His shades still block his gaze and most of his emotions. 

“Here, let me try,” Vriska reaches out, grabs his hand, and licks it too. You don’t know how he can continue to look at you, so nonplussed. 

“You’ve got all the ladies eating out of your hand, have you?” Rose chirps as she sits down. God, fuck Rose. She’s stirring her tea as she talks. And you hate the way she looks at people. LIke she’s peeling out the outer layers of you and looking at your raw parts. Fuck seers. 

Vriska, though, pulls away from Dave as soon as Rose points out what she’s doing. Eating out of someone’s hand. And she says you and Kanaya are the only one cozying up to the humans. 

“Of course. Because. I’m the man,” Dave replies, wiggling his eyebrows at her. 

“Mmhmm, sure thing.” Rose rolls her eyes at him. “What’s wrong, Karkat?”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“You look like someone’s killed your puppy.” She sips her tea and watches you carefully. 

“WHAT IS THAT.”

Dave laughs, and you have to try really hard not to smile. “Doesn’t matter, dude. Rose, tell him that neither salt nor pepper is poisonous, so these troll ladies can get their tongues offa me.”

Terezi laughs and leans over his shoulder, licking her lips. 

“Right.” Rose shakes her head, bemused. “It’s not poisonous, Karkat. At least to humans. Humans eat them all the time.”

“I eat pepper on everything,” Dave butts in. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s shrugged Terezi away. It doesn’t escape Vriska’s noticed either. She elbows you in the side with her pointy little elbow. 

“SO BASICALLY YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST TRIED TO COMPROMISE MY IMMUNE SYSTEM.”

“Not really! Not intentionally. Come on, you haven’t eaten anything.” He throws the pepper at you, and you nearly drop it. 

“OH LOOK AT NOW YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL ME WITH PROJECTILES, TOO.”

He laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too. It’s so natural to be sitting around with him, teasing him. You can’t think of him not being able to do this with him. The girls around you also laugh, but they’re almost outside the two of you. It’s nice. 

But then you remember why you’re not supposed to like him, so you put the pepper on the table. The sound of glass on wood echoes through the kitchen, and everyone looks back at you. 

“I’M NOT HUNGRY THOUGH. SORRY.” You stand up abruptly from the table, and, not looking at anyone, leave the kitchen. You think you feel his eyes on your back as you leave, but you can’t be certain. With him, nothing is certain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoy this, and that it isn't too cheesy :)

There’s something wrong with Karkat. You guess you should have figured that out before he ran out of the kitchen, but you’ve been a little giddy with possibility. The width of his shoulders disappearing into the darkened hallway leaves you unsettled. This was supposed to be the da where it all went right. You rub your face with your hand and look around. 

Everyone is still staring in a sort of shocked silence after him. He’d been acting fairly normal, for him, like thirty seconds ago. 

Terezi laughs, nervously. “What was that?”

“You,” Vriska says, and she drags his plate to her. “I’ll take some of that salt, yeah?”

You hand her the shaker. Her hands are smooth and cool, too. You wonder if trolls have fingerprints and skin ridges like humans. They would, wouldn’t they? Otherwise it would be pretty difficult for them to grip things. “What do you mean it was about Terezi?” The room feels still and large without him in it. 

“She’s been all up on your face, you know, licking it. Touching your weird, pale legs.” Serket starts shoveling the cold eggs into her mouth, so quickly that you feel nauseous just looking at her. 

Next to you, Rose snorts, and you don’t think it’s because of the comment about your legs. 

“Yeah, that’s just what TZ does.” 

“Exactly. I’m always up in everyone’s business. All the time.” But Pyrope looks uncomfortable as she talks, wiggling away from you. You’ve never really thought of her space-invader tendencies as anything more than that, and it makes you happy in a perverse way that he does. 

He seemed really pissed about it, too. You bite your bottom lip. “That’s really the problem.”

“Uh, yeah. Don’t know the fuck why. I mean, look at him, TZ. He looks like a fucking grub. All pale and,” Vriska e makes a face of revulsion and continues sucking down the eggs at a rate probably not good for her digestive system. 

“He tastes good, though,” Pyrope supplies. “And Kanaya would probably tell you they’re all sorts of cute.” She winks at rose and shoots her with a finger pistol. Rose blushes and rolls her eyes, choosing that moment to take a nice long drink from her tea. “And anyways,” Terezi continues, “You had the hots for John at one point.”

“God don’t even.” Her eye roll is absolutely vicious. “At least he was hot.”

“Oh, God, wow, before we even start talking about John like that--” You place your hands over your ears. You really don’t want to be talking about John. You want to be talking about him, and why he just ran away, and if it’s okay for you to go after him, or maybe that’s weird? Or maybe he’s mad at you, but if he is, shouldn’t you apologize? Even though it wasn’t your fault TZ’s always all over you, but you should go talk to him. 

You think you should go talk to him, right? 

You want to go talk to him.

“Like?” Vriska’s still interested in your best bro, though. 

“Like, I don’t know--”

“LIke he might be actually attractive.” Rose supplies. “I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a wonderful man, but you do realize what a dork he was, right?”

“I don’t subscribe to your human views of ‘dorkiness,’ alright?”

“And besides,” TZ’s says, a wicked smile slicking her face. “Dorky is Vriska’s type.”

You can see the blood rising in Vriska’s cheeks, the anger tightening the tendons in her fingers, the narrowing of her eyes, and involuntarily your legs throw themselves into a standing position. “Fucking Christ guys, stand down. Come on, please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Not between you. We already know all your drama but--”

“You want help with all yours?” Vriska’s standing too, her eyebrows dangerous behind her thick-rimmed glasses. 

“Yeah.” You scratch the back of your neck. “Yes.” The you can’t tell if the tension in your gut is excitement, nerves, or anticipation, but you feel like you’re going to vomit. Or break out of your skin. 

“Well, Dave, sorry to break it to you, but this is sort of old news to the rest of us.” Rose pats you once, twice on the back. “So, go get ‘em tiger.”

“Yes! We’ll all be behind you. I’ll even come listen in, if you want.” Terezi smiles, cute and big, and normally you’d smile back, but you can hear your heart in your ears. 

Holy shit, you--you’re still in breakfast eating mode. You can’t just go up there and start talking to him about shit and still be in breakfast mode. But, you don’t know if you’ve ever been in boyfriend-getting mode. 

Well. That might be setting your sights a little too high. How about “romantic mode?” You don’t think you’ve ever been in that frame of mind either. 

“No, god, please, sit here, don’t move. Forget I exist. Don’t--Rose?”

“What?”

“Do I have to?”

She laughs. “Do you have to what?”

“What if he says he doesn’t like me anymore and then he doesn’t even talk to me?”

“I didn’t think you were so much of an ass, Strider,” Vriska points out. She downs Karkat’s abandoned orange juice in a single gulp, and then burps. “It’s not like he’s talking to you much now, is he? So it’s not really going to be all that different.”

“She does have a point,” Terezi points out, “but for what it’s worth, I believe in you. I already have the movie picked out for your first date, okay? So you have to go up there and tell him that he’s cute and that you love him go!” She pushes on your hip and you stutter and blush, but there’s not really any way out of it now. 

You hate yourself for this, and you hate him for it too, but you can hardly breath as you leave the kitchen. You don’t look back, because you’ve made enough of a fool of yourself today, but the anticipation has left only a dull tingling sessions where you think your toes are supposed to be. 

He lives only down the hallway from you. So, it’s up the staircase, your footsteps echoing in the gray. And then down the hall, past Kanaya’s door, yours, Terezi’s. His is second to last. The door has movie posters on it. People hugging and kissing and leaning against each other. You close your eyes and knock, the gesture as familiar and as foreign as every dream you’ve ever had. 

He answers in Alternian.

“I’m sorry? I-I didn’t get that.” You should have learned it. It’s not like you have anything better to do on this hunk of rock other than mope around and think about how pretty he is. Not that you spend a lot of time thinking about the latter. 

Well, you do. You just won’t be caught dead admitting it. 

“DAVE?” His voice sounds muffled like he’s shouting into his pillow. 

“Yes, it’s me.” You feel like a nervous child, running your hands over each other. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

What do you want? You should have planned this out a little more, thought it over some. It isn’t like you haven’t had the past year to do just that. “Um, well, I was thinking that I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

“WELL I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, SO FUCK OFF.”

“Um, no? I don’t think it works like that. So. I guess I’m just going to stand here for a while until you change your mind?” Yes. You nailed that. Fuck yeah. They should pay you money for all the smooth talk that’s coming out of your mouth right now. 

“NO. STOP VIOLATING MY PRIVACY!”

“No, I’m not violating anything.” Ugh, wow, you could have rephrased that. “Um, but, anyways. I’m just going to sit here. Outsider your door. Not at all in like, your privacy, man.” Wow, you’re so good at this. Wow. 

You can hear him come up to the door, but you forget to step back before he throws it open. So you find yourself staring at his neck, and awkwardly close. “So, hey,” you say, stepping backwards. “Um, what’s up?”

He is not amused. “THIS IS WHAT YOU CAME UP HERE TO FUCK ME ABOUT? WHAT IS UP? NOTHING IS UP DAVE, WE’RE TUMBLING THROUGH SPACE AND TIME DEVOID OF DIRECTION.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not what I was up here to talk to you about, but you know, you’re like. Busy. And stuff. I guess.” You scratch the back of your neck. You’re going to wear a hole in your skin back here. “I didn’t really think you were actually going to come out here and talk to me?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME DAVID?” You can see the tension in the set of his shoulders and the way he looks at you. 

“I guess . . . that I think you’re cute?” Your whole body swells up as you say it and then sort of relaxes. When you can’t talk it back anymore. No more hiding in strange corners at the bottom of Juggalo Town. No more being afraid that what you say or what you do will give you away. “And that I don’t think that Terezi is cute in the way that I think you’re cute. So, if that’s what you’re mad, then, uh, you shouldn’t be.”

“WAIT WHAT?”

You shrug, and find you can’t look him in the face. “Sorry, I guess I was wrong.” You turn to leave, that sinking feeling, that feeling of deflation not quite hitting you yet. 

“NO WAIT. YOU AREN’T.” He screws up his face, as though it’s painful for him to speak. “YOU AREN’T WRONG. OKAY?”

“Yeah, okay.” You feel yourself smiling, unbidden. You didn’t think that this would make you feel this good. Unstoppable, almost, the only piece of light on the meteor. 

“JUST, WAIT HERE, OKAY?” He seems nervous, too, almost too big to hold himself together. “I’LL JUST--BE BACK IN A SECOND.” He disappears back into his room, and shuts the door behind him. You don’t mind though. The gentle gray that covers the hallway lifts around you, and you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to make yourself stop smiling. 

You can wait for him for as long as he needs you too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I'm so sorry that this took so long to put out, but this story is over now! I know this chapter is mostly fluff, but I thought it was a good ending. Thank you so much for your support, as usual, and if anyone needs any help writing or anything my tumblr is sargentboxcars . I hope you all are doing well, and that you have a great day <3

You wait for him on the couch. You stopped keeping track of the days weeks ago. Or was it longer than that? It’s a sort of comfortable monotony, like your bed in winter. 

You made popcorn waiting for him, and set up a movie. It’s a tradition, even though you’ve know all the movies well enough to recite them by heart. You like the way he falls asleep next to you halfway through the movie, and how he’s still there when you wake up in the morning. 

He snores. He’s loud, even when he’s sleeping. 

Once you tried to take him out on an actual date. But the meteor is too small for that. Someone kept “running into you” on “accident” every five or so minutes. He’d gotten so embarrassed, you’d had to bring food up to his room for the whole of the next day. Some days you wish he wasn’t so sensitive, but at the same time you’re  
happy for it. You like your small traditions, your small kisses, kept between the two of you like so many little pieces of sunshine. 

He comes into the room, wearing a blanket like a cape. “HOW LONG WERE YOU WAITING HERE FOR?”

“I don’t know, man,” you shift in your seat and try to look casual. One leg over the other, nope, that’s too contrived, stretch your arms out along the back of the couch, nope, that’s uncomfortable no one would do that. You started cleaning and preparing about 45 minutes ago, but you’ve only been truly waiting him for about 5. So, you know, not that long. You think you’ve already made it clear that you’re prepared to wait much longer. 

“BULLSHIT I KNOW YOU DO.” He throws himself down next to you, all sass and fleece. He draws the blanket around himself and tucks his knees in. “YOU’RE WEIRDLY SPECIFIC ABOUT THINGS INVOLVING OUR,” he takes his hands out of the blanket to make quotation marks with his fingers, “‘DATES’.”

“What even. This is libel.”

“WHAT?” He shrugs himself into his blanket nest, so only his forehead, his shaggy hair, and tiny horns are sticking out. He is so absolutely fucking cute. 

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I made popcorn.” 

“SO YOU’VE BEEN HERE FOR A LONG-ASS TIME.”

“I said, stop worrying about it. Do you want to watch the movie or not?” You don’t know if you should bring the bowl closer to his face so he can just stick his mouth in, or if you should just leave it on the coffee table for him to get it himself. 

You don’t think you’re a very good boyfriend, because of this paralyzing awkwardness, and also the tendency you have to start fights with him without even trying. You just want everything to go nicely. You just want him to enjoy spending time with you as much as you enjoy spending time with him. 

“NO.”

The humiliation is almost immediate. “Oh. Sorry. I just thought--” You pick everything up and start for the kitchen, blood rushing up the your cheeks and down your neck. It’s almost physically painful, how embarrassed you are. 

“NO STOP.” He grabs your shirt and pulls you back down to the couch. Popcorn spills everywhere, and you wish that he would let you up so you could go into another room and just get yourself together. 

“I DON’T WANT TO WATCH IT. LET’S JUST DO SOMETHING ELSE OKAY?”

You try to slide off onto the floor so you can pick up the mess and not look at him, but he pulls you closer to him by your waist. “NO YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME OKAY. THIS IS A RELATIONSHIP. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS TO HUMANS BUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME IS THAT THE PEOPLE WHO ARE LIKE DATING AND STUFF ARE HAPPY TOGETHER.”

“Yeah, and?” His face is right next to yours, his breath warm over your cheek. You grab onto his hand tightly, your fingers digging into the flesh of his hand. You don’t want him to tell you that he’s not happy, that this isn’t going to work out okay. You don’t want to hear it. 

“AND YOU DON’T LIKE THIS VERY MUCH.”

“This what? This relationship?--” you try to push yourself up away from him, but he tucks you in tighter, and your head falls on his shoulder.

“WATCHING MOVIES. I KNOW I JUST FALL ASLEEP AND THEN YOU HAVE TO WATCH THE WHOLE SHITTY THING BY YOURSELF.”

“Oh.” You laugh, and it’s sort of shaky. “Sorry, no, that’s not a problem. I like spending time with you.”

“RIGHT, I KNOW, I’M PRETTY GREAT. BUT WE DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS EVERY WEEK OKAY?”

“Yeah?”

“YEAH. WE SHOULD DO SOMETHING YOU LIKE TO DO.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs, and your head bounces against his shoulder, his chin tucking itself quietly over your skull. “YOU CHOOSE.”

You press your face closer into him, pretending to be thinking, but you knew the answer the moment the decision was presented to you. “Can we just sit here? Like this?”

You can feel him smiling against your hair, and you smile too. Moments like this make you ashamed of all the moments that came before it. The uncertainty and the embarrassment and mistrust. But then there’s this, a gift you never thought you’d receive. 

His breath against your head, his lips against your skin, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath you. In the morning, you wake up, and the two of you are still in the same position, on on top of the other. He threw his blanket around you, so you’re wrapped up together, in a tiny cocoon. His mouth is slightly open, and he’s snoring lightly. 

You kiss him lightly on the nose, and then on all of his freckles, and then on his closed eyes because he’s cute and he loves you. And then you close your eyes too, because it’s nice and dark, and you think you’d like to hide away with him, for just a little while longer.


End file.
